For the Worst
by Digitallace
Summary: True Beloveds Series Part 1 - Two rivals pushed together in a changed world. Has it changed enough for them to be together?Explicit content warning.DH Epilogue compliant.
1. Part 1

For the Worst

Author's Note: Draco's always very amusing in my head, more so than Harry usually. This story was written as a prequel to 'For the Best' but honestly it can stand alone. One doesn't need to read both to understand either, but it paints a more complete picture if you read them together. It will be three parts in total.

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I'd never intended to fall in love with Harry Potter.

In fact, Salazar Slytherin himself would probably roll in his grave at the news of a Malfoy even befriending a Potter, much less loving one, and that's nothing to say of what my father would think, rest his soul.

No, I fully blamed Potter for my fluffy condition. He'd tricked me, revealing a secret charm I hadn't suspected he possessed until it was too late and I was already caught in his crafty grasp. He'd been such a scraggly boy at Hogwarts, messy and bumbling with no care for the rules. I'm not perfect citizen either, but at least if I'm going to circumvent the system I do it in a cunning way, not the brash and thoughtless way Potter always managed.

And those clothes.

To his credit, his school uniforms and robes always fit fine, but the other things he sometimes wore beneath them were atrociously huge on his frail-seeming frame. I heard a rumor that he'd been given the items from an obese relative, but had he forgotten he was a wizard? Could he not manage a simple Transfiguration spell to adjust their fit? Could he not persuade his friend Granger to do it for him if he felt inept at the spellwork?

Even though I sought out reasons to loathe him, I really never needed to. He provided me with plenty of material without my willingness to dig too deeply. I sometimes laughed at myself when I thought of my original delusions that I could befriend the famous boy; use him to gain advantage for myself. Harry was a Gryffindor through and through, and nothing would ever change that. Furthermore, nothing would ever alter my own Slytherin outlook and persona.

Or so I had thought.

Then came the war and all the horrid things that came with it. I'd spent the later part of my teenage years in constant fear, wondering when the Dark Lord would fancy to murder me for buttering my toast incorrectly or combing my hair the wrong way, because that was all it might take. He was mad; I saw that from the start, regardless of how much my father had built him up in my mind all those years before. Perhaps he had been different before his corporeal departure from our world, more cunning and less crazy, but I never knew that man. I only knew a monster who threatened my mother to get what he wanted out of me and who forced me to witness events that no child should ever be subjected to.

The war brought death and funerals and trials, I watched friends and family buried in the earth beside our enemies, entombed beneath the ground forever. I would only hear my insane aunt's cackle in my dreams; I would no longer need to wonder if death lurked in my dining room. Much of it was a relief, and I almost felt myself detach from reality for a time, especially during my father's trial.

Hearing about all the things my father had done in Voldemort's name had a sobering, almost humbling effect on me. No longer was I under the delusion that he could do no wrong, that my father, the great and powerful Lucius Malfoy, was immune to the consequences of his actions. He was just as fallible as I was, just as mortal, just as frail.

Watching them administer the Dementor's Kiss on my strong, proud father made me reevaluate all that I knew of the world around me.

The Malfoy name was now soil under wizarding society's dragon hide boot and I was the last remaining in my line. My first thought was just to let us die out altogether. Perhaps it would be best if the Malfoy name passed away with me, ridding the world of our deceit, but my innate Slytherin pride stripped all such thoughts from my mind. Instead, I decided to change the name into something it had never been before. The Malfoys would be respected for more than Dark Magic and treachery, they would be known for their power and mercy and perceptiveness.

That was the day I decided to join the division of Aurors at the Ministry for Magic. Had I known now what I knew then when I stared down at the training brochure – that this path would lead me inexplicably into Potter's arms and bed, leaving my heart shattered in the meanwhile – would I have selected a different method of raising the Malfoy name from the muck? I don't know. For better or for worse, I love Harry Potter, and I don't know if I could sacrifice the happy moments I've spent with him just to eliminate my pain.

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"Auror training is not a game. I'm not here to entertain you or cater to your whining and complaining. This will be a challenge to all of you and impossible to some of you. You'll be put through rigorous physical battles and plenty of trials that will test your decision-making skills in combat and in high-pressure situations. If you end up with a place in the Auror department by the end of this training regimen, you will have earned it."

I got the feeling that the instructor was directing his speech at me, but I kept my chin high. I was going to finish with top marks and earn my place in the division if it was the last thing I did. Another failure added to the long list already racked up by my family was not an option.

It was surprising to see the turnout for the training program. There must have been forty people there, most straight out of Hogwarts or another wizarding school, though some were older, most likely people who had fought in the war and found dueling to be a calling for them. Like me, everyone there had his or her own reasons for joining, I'm sure. Both Weasley and Granger were amongst the group, which was something that didn't surprise me. They'd both looked at me as if I had a Gryffindor crest tattooed on my forehead when I walked in and took my place in the front row of desks.

The entire classroom was made up of stark white walls with nothing in the way of decoration. There was a large blackboard in the very front of the room with the instructor's name scribbled upon it. Clarence Cockburn was his name, but I doubted anyone in this room was suicidal or idiot enough to tease him about it. The man had the countenance of a large jungle cat, just waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakened prey.

Everyone was broken into pairs at their double desks, wands out and set in front of them at the ready. We'd be getting training uniforms and holsters by the end of the day, but the orientation had only begun. I shared my table with no one, and I suspected that was because there was no one in the room who wanted to be subjected to partner with me. I couldn't blame them, but I did wonder how that was going to effect my own assignments if I had no one to work with. Would he boot me out of the program on principal alone?

When the door opened at the back of the room most everyone turned to look. I remained facing forward, not wanting to give the instructor any reason to dislodge me from the training room, until I heard the instructor's greeting and watched his face soften ever so slightly.

"Well, Mr. Potter. So glad you could fit it into your busy schedule to join us today. I saw your name on the roster and began wondering if someone had played a prank on me," he boomed, not sounding nearly as angry as his words should have suggested. Had I waltzed into the room half an hour late he would have given me the sack.

"Sorry, Sir," he placated as he stood in the entranceway, giving a brief nod to the other two thirds of his trio and scanning the area for a place to sit. My heart sunk when I realized he'd be paired with me simply because I had an empty spot at my desk. "I got detained by Minister Shacklebolt, Sir."

"Well, that's as good an excuse as any, I suppose," he murmured, beaming at the golden hero as he pointed to the desk where I sat. "There is a place up front here with Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps you'll be a good influence on him and some of those innate defense skills might rub off on him."

My eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the comment but I kept my cool by digging sharp fingernails into my palm. I didn't need anything of Potter's rubbing off on anything of mine and I resented the implication that he was better than me. Still, the look of sheer horror in his eyes as he absorbed the instructor's words and paired them with my sneering face was nearly priceless.

I turned back to the front of the class, trying my best to ignore him as he fumbled his way up to the front and pulled out the chair just next to me. He couldn't possibly move it further away than he did and still be at the same table, in fact part of his chair jutted out into the aisle he was so far away. It made me want to shift closer, just to see what he would do, but I refrained. I couldn't use up all my fun tricks within the first hour after all.

I could hear mutters and snickering from somewhere behind us and I wondered which of us they were laughing at, but a stern look from Cockburn got them all to hush with haste. He progressed with his introduction into the program, passing out textbooks and pamphlets on the various tasks we'd be required to complete with high marks in order to pass into the department. Everyone there had to master advanced flying techniques and maneuvers as well as silent _and_ wandless magic. I suddenly saw what the instructor meant when he said some of us would find the training impossible. I only knew a handful of wizards and witches that could perform wandless incantations with any decent precision.

As I read on, there was finally one thing that heartened me. Legilimency and Occlumency would also need to be mastered and I'd already done so by age ten, spending the following years honing my skill at it. It was probably the only thing that kept me alive the day that Fenrir and his cohorts captured Potter and his ignorant groupies. Had my aunt Bella, or any other Death Eater, been able to read my mind that day they would have known I was lying when I claimed I didn't know whom it was they had brought to the manor.

Potter seemed worried when he got to that section of the introduction and I took a quite pride in knowing that I would easily best him in at least one of these challenges.

My smirk quickly faded when the instructor moved on though, describing our schedule and living arrangements. For the next two and a half years, I was sharing miniscule quarters with Harry fucking Potter. At least he looked just as chagrined at the fact as I felt. Part of me hoped he put up a fight and managed to get transferred and paired elsewhere. If anyone could manage to win that battle with Cockburn, it was Potter.

The day dragged by as the instructor went over the intricacies of being an Auror, but thankfully his speeches soon gave way to a break for lunch and as I expected, Potter lagged behind, no doubt trying to figure a way to partner with Weasley, or just about anyone else for that matter.

As I trudged my way to the Ministry cafeteria, I tried not to think about the horrid food they served there that had no nutritional value whatsoever, or the fact that I would spend every meal for the next two and a half years eating very much alone. At least I had been used to that at the manor. When mother did come down to join me in the dining room it was only briefly. She was still grief ridden over my father's death and spent most days locked up in her private rooms. I wondered if she even noticed I'd taken leave of the manor to start my training. I had told her all about it of course, but I never knew what tidbits she actually absorbed these days. I feared for her health and I worried that I would be burying her as well soon, something I tried very hard not to dwell on as I stared down at the herb roasted – and I use the words 'herb roasted' very lightly - chicken that looked very much like death in meaty form.

When Potter emerged in the cafeteria with a sullen scowl I took it to mean even his influence had failed in winning him his freedom from me. I sighed heavily, knowing I couldn't possibly sway Cockburn if the victorious war hero had produced no effective results. I was doomed and that was all there was to it.

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The room was even tinier than I thought possible when magically expanded spaces were the norm. I supposed it was to prepare us for…something…but for what I had no idea. There was a long desk against one wall, barren and beige just like all the other furniture, two chairs and the worst thing I'd ever seen in my life.

Bunk beds.

What were we, nine? I could already hear the argument rolling through my head for who got which bed and I didn't really care since I was relegated to sleeping in the same room as Potter regardless how close to the ceiling I was permitted to sleep. I bet he snores. I bet _all_ Gryffindors snore.

My chance to find out barreled through the door behind me and narrowly missed slamming into my back. It looked as though a not-so-clever insult was ready to be hurled in my direction, but he stopped, his mouth gaping as he took in our surroundings.

"Bunk beds?" he muttered, running a hand over his face. I almost laughed that we had managed identical reactions to the room and its contents but that would have been admitting Potter and I had something in common – even a little thing as that - and I wasn't willing to do that, not to mention the brazen Gryffindor would likely misconstrue my laughter somehow and find a reason to get me sacked from the program.

His shoulder's sagged slightly as he glanced from me to the beds, his lips pursing as if holding back a snide remark. "I suppose you'll want the top bunk," he muttered at last when all intelligent banter seemed to elude him.

"As much pleasure as it would give me to top you, Potter, I honestly don't care. Staying in this room with you is punishment enough, why not heap it on thick, hm?" I was bitter over the entire arrangement and I didn't hide that fact. He'd shown up late and made a program that was already going to tax me in every way, just that much more difficult.

He swallowed thickly at my innuendo and eventually rolled his eyes, breezing right over it, but the initial reaction was enough that I knew I could file it away as something else to make Potter uncomfortable. "So, you don't care if I sleep up top then?" he reaffirmed with a glower and I merely turned away and began casting cleansing Charms on the bottom bed.

When it was clear to him that I wasn't deigning to repeat myself, he stalked over and climbed up the wobbly ladder beside me, flopping roughly to the mattress and shutting his eyes. I gave a brief moment to worry that I would end up waking up with Potter and his mattress smothering me to death if he kept abusing the obviously rickety furniture in such a way, but I let it go. I'd be lucky not to wake up to find him murdering me on purpose and just using the faulty bunk beds as a scapegoat.

Grateful for the silence, I unpacked my things and stored them in my half of the closet and made my way into the tiny bathroom adjoining our space. One could practically wash their face in the sink while taking a piss, the room was so compact, but I tried not to complain too much or curse aloud when I banged my shin against the edge of the tub. It was going to be hell trying to share this space with Potter in the mornings.

To my contentment, Potter didn't snore, but he did talk in his sleep, muttering to people who weren't even alive anymore. If that wasn't disconcerting enough, at about three in the morning he screamed bloody murder, rousing me from bed with a start as I grabbed my wand and scanned the room for the threat. It took me a moment to realize he'd just been having a nightmare, and even longer to get my heart rate to settle and my mind to quiet as I slumped back into bed and cursed my terrible luck.

I'd only just fallen back to sleep when my alarm went off and I was forced to drag out of bed and get ready. I knew exactly how long it took me to complete my morning routine down to the minute, and I made sure to allot myself enough time to get breakfast as well.

The shower groaned from disuse when I turned the knob, the water chugging through the pipes with effort before finally streaming – if one could call it a stream, sputtering was more like it – out of the rusty metal showerhead. I had to wait for it to turn clear, and I wondered briefly if I wasn't just making myself dirtier by standing under its spray than I would have been foregoing a shower altogether. I desperately missed the seven-jet shower system I had back at the manor and thought that perhaps if I got up earlier I could start Flooing back to the manor to get ready in the mornings instead.

As soon as I soaped up my hair, I heard a noise and realized I hadn't locked the bathroom door behind me. Was there even a lock? I couldn't recall. Either way, Potter came trudging in and I tensed, not wanting him to pull aside the curtain and see me there nude and sudsy.

"Potter, if you'd just wait a moment I'll be through," I griped but he just grunted at me like a Neanderthal.

"I have to piss, just stay in there and no peeking," he warned. I rolled my eyes, but I knew he couldn't see me.

"I have no wish to see your tiny Gryffindor prick, Potter," I huffed instead.

"That doesn't even make any sense," he muttered.

"What? That I wouldn't like to spy on you taking a piss?" His reasoning baffled me. Did he think I fancied him? He probably assumed everyone did the great, bloody prat.

"No," he replied, voice tinged with laughter. "It doesn't make sense that my cock would be small just because I was in Gryffindor."

"Well, for whatever reason, my condolences," I replied and he just chuckled again. I didn't know what was so funny until I heard him zip up and flush the toilet.

"You might want to hurry, I suspect the water will go cold in about three, two-"

I let out a yelp before I could stop myself as the water indeed went icy and turned my entire body into gooseflesh. He just laughed at my string of curses and damnations and shut the door behind him when he left. I finished my shower as fast as humanly possible and hopped out, quickly drying my shivering body. "Fucking Gryffindor git," I muttered as I slipped back into the room with a towel wrapped firmly around my waist.

My hair was still wet, dripping cold rivulets of water down my back and making my nipples stand at attention as I rooted through the closet for my training uniform. Harry was sitting at the desk when I walked out of the bathroom and his eyes never left me as I trailed across the room. His face was flushed and as I studied him out of the corner of my eye, I noticed he was practically drooling. I had to admit, I was rather spectacular to look at - many had fought over the prize of showering along side of me in the Quidditch locker room – but I had thought Potter was as straight as they came.

Perhaps I was wrong about him.

I myself knew long before now that I preferred men. I don't even know how I knew for sure, I just did. I enjoy the way they walk, the way their clothes fit, the way their skin smelled. I liked that they were more angular and far gruffer than females. They didn't slather their faces with make up, or their flesh with flowery perfumes. I'd always known I was going to have to marry and sleep with a woman, as a Malfoy I was nothing without an heir, but I had always known I wouldn't enjoy it – that point was proven when I briefly tried to have a relationship with Pansy, though to my credit, she was an incredibly high maintenance woman.

Apparently Potter was of the gay persuasion as well, and I wondered if he even knew it. I made it my mission to point it out to him, starting right that moment.

My hair was long enough that I could wring it out. I rarely did so, because it was so damaging to the ends and I wanted to grow it out, but I made an exception just this once. The look of open hunger on Potter's face as I squeezed the last bit of water remaining in my hair, letting it slip down my back and chest, was worth whatever splitting it might have done to my hair.

His green eyes were alight with need as I removed the towel, careful to keep any important bits covered as I surreptitiously watched him stare, leaning ever so slightly in his chair as if to see what I was hiding from him. His eyes never drifted up to my face or else he would have caught me watching his reaction, but as soon as I dropped the towel altogether he cleared his throat sharply and rushed into the bathroom.

I chuckled darkly, feeling as though I had gotten suitable revenge for the shower incident, and quickly dressed in my uniform. I'd lingered too long already to be able to grab breakfast, so as soon as I was fully clothed, I took off for the training room.

Potter was late again, probably from having to wank before he showed up. I smirked to myself at the thought and made sure I slid my chair as far over toward the center as I could so that he couldn't move too far away from me. When he took his seat, I leaned over and grabbed a quill I'd left on his side of the desk, nearly brushing against his chest as I did. "Pardon me," I whispered as I pulled back, quill in hand, and waited for him to start breathing again.

"Maybe you should keep _your_ stuff on _your_ side of the desk, Malfoy," he lectured when he had recovered.

I smiled at him pleasantly and ran the feather of the quill in a long, leisurely motion along the side of my face and down my neck. "I'll try to remember that," I placated, chuckling silently as he wrenched his gaze from me and planted it firmly on the empty desk in front of him, scowling at the surface as if it had personally affronted him in some way.

It was time for our first lesson, flying as it happened, and we were all led out to field. It wasn't really a field of course; just a large atrium that was spelled to look like an open pitch, but it was nice to be out of those stark rooms for a bit. I never realized how soul sucking a neutral colored room could be. I would have almost preferred to sit amongst Gryffindor red and gold than the plethora of dull beige that had been accosting me for the last twenty-four hours. Almost.

Granger and Weasley rushed to their friend's side with their brooms, pulling him out of my reach for a moment, but I was forced to follow their lead since Potter was my partner after all. I stood nearby, ready to mount my broom when the Instructor came over and stared down at me.

"Where's your partner, Malfoy?" I nodded my head in the direction of the chattering threesome but he didn't look. "And why aren't you with him?" he pressed.

"He doesn't seem keen on partnering with me, Sir," I replied, loud enough for Potter to hear me.

"And why is that?" Cockburn asked, looking as though he assumed it was my fault.

"I don't know, Sir. I've tried being civil. I think he still holds a schoolboy grudge against me," I replied easily and Potter bristled, marching over to stand beside me.

"I do not have a schoolboy crush on you," he hissed, his index finger inches away from my chest.

I casually batted the finger away and smirked at him. "Grudge. I said grudge, Potter, not _crush_."

His face turned three shades of red before his glare at me ended abruptly and he stood rigid at my side, broom in hand. Apparently he'd only just realized Cockburn was watching our exchange.

"Am I going to have a problem with you two?" the instructor asked and we told him 'no, Sir' in unison, shaking our heads until he nodded curtly and moved on to assess Weasley and Granger.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but you're not ruining this for me," he hissed when Cockburn was out of sight.

"I'm not playing at anything, Potter. It's not as if you have anything to worry about anyway. Cockburn wouldn't throw you out of the program if you burned the building down," I scoffed.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" His face was still turned away from me, but I could tell he wanted to glare at me directly, perhaps he was afraid of what he'd see reflected in my eyes if he did.

"It means, you're his special pet and I'm the son of an executed Death Eater. Who do you think he's going to sack between us?" I spat. I was serious about this, and Harry was off trying to gallivant with his friends like the good old days at Hogwarts, but I was the one reprimanded.

Potter didn't say another word as he stewed there at my side, straddling his broom and trying not to watch me climb onto mine. The instructor came around with a small box, showing us the contents inside. I watched a triumphant grin cross Potter's features when I spied the golden Snitch inside the box, realizing what the day's challenge would be. It was nearly impossible to beat Harry Potter to the Snitch, something I knew first hand, and clearly he did too.

I glanced over and saw him staring at me, a manic gleam of victory in his eyes as Cockburn explained that we would be fighting for the Snitch two at a time with the partners beside us. Meanwhile, he would be judging us based on technique and maneuvering abilities as we fought to catch the fluttering golden ball.

Lavender Brown and Romilda Vane were the first to fly, the latter easily outmatched by the former. Apparently Brown had been paying attention while following her _Won-Won_ to the pitch for practice. She wasn't spectacular but she was far better than Vane who was wobbly at best and nearly fell out of the sky twice.

Finch-Fletchley and Corner were better matched, and the fight for the Snitch wore on a lot longer than it had with the girls before them. Both showed reasonable skill, but it was Corner who managed the catch. Weasley and Granger stepped up next, and I'd never seen Granger look so terrified as she stared down at her broom. She was shaking like a leaf, all the while Weasley looked determined, not even noticing his girlfriend's plight.

"What's Granger's problem?" I asked Potter, and he leaned into me, whispering against my ear before pulling sharply away.

"She's afraid to fly," he'd said, but I only registered his scent, clean and warm and sweet.

I shook it off, reminding myself that it was Potter who fancied me, not the other way around. "She's going to have a tough time of it then," I muttered and Harry nodded, wincing as if he'd just realized he'd agreed with me about something.

We waited in tense silence as Cockburn tossed the Snitch into the air and Ron took off after it, diving and spinning and generally showing off. Granger, however, couldn't even get her broom to leave the ground. I felt a momentary tug of pity for her as she shouted for her broom to rise to her hand, all the while shaking with fear.

"Off the field, Granger!" Cockburn boomed, sending the fuzzy haired girl running toward the classroom doors, trying to fight her tears as she went. Weasley came down a moment later and started after her, but Cockburn warned him off, ordering him to stay in place as he sent up the next team. I could feel Potter shift beside me, obviously wanting to give chase to his friend and I put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"You'll be able to catch her afterward. She probably wants to be alone right now anyhow," I told him. He just stared at my hand for a long moment before brushing it off and looking at me with angry emerald eyes.

"And how would you know? You know nothing about her, she's beneath you, remember?" he hissed at me and I backed down.

"No one is beneath me anymore, Potter," I informed him truthfully. You couldn't get more unwelcome than me.

"No one ever was," he growled and I bowed my head slightly in agreement, watching as all the huff and puff seeped out of him like a popped balloon. It seemed he'd rather hate me than admit he felt any tug of attraction toward me, which didn't suit my needs for making him miserable, so I tried my best to discourage his hatred.

"If you'd just give me a chance, Potter, I think you'd find me a different person now than I was in school," I told him honestly.

"I don't believe that for an instant," he seethed. "You're up to something and I'll find out what it is. You have no business here, Malfoy."

My hands formed into fists at my side, fingernails slicing through the tender flesh of my palms as I glared at him menacingly. "Just because you're the Chosen One doesn't give you the right to dictate my life and my choices. Who the hell are you to tell me where I belong?"

Potter's jaw worked, his eyes narrowed and his mouth tensed into a tight line but he didn't respond. He didn't have time to.

"Potter, Malfoy, your turn," Cockburn shouted and launched the Snitch into the air without any other warning.

I flew after it without missing a heartbeat, shoving off the ground with so much force that I nearly pulled a muscle. I was determined to beat him to it this time, prove that I belonged in this program just as surely as he did. The self-righteous bastard could think whatever he liked, but I would snatch that Snitch right out from under his nose.

He was right behind me and closing in fast, but the Snitch dove and his reflexes where a hair sharper than mine and by the time I fell into the same dive, Potter had the advantage. He reached out, fingers barely grazing its surface but then the Snitch zigged and he zagged and I was ahead again. I did a spiraling loop, trying to cut off its progress and block Potter in the same move and it worked, my hand closed around the Snitch and I barely registered Potter's snarl of defeat as he sank to the ground.

"Nice job, Malfoy, you too, Potter," Cockburn complimented before sending up the next pair.

Out of breath I went over and stood by Potter. I wasn't openly gloating but my eyes were no doubt reflecting how pleased I was with my ability to outmaneuver the brunet at last. He was seething beside me, deftly ignoring both myself and his Weasel friend, who was trying desperately to get his attention.

We left the field in silence when the tests were all completed and I didn't see Potter again until later that night. I was reading through the textbook, propped up in bed with my shirt off – for Potter's benefit, of course – and he came strolling through the door looking as if he'd just seen a kitten murdered.

"Who died?" I asked blandly, hardly looking up from my book.

"Mione is quitting the program," he replied glumly.

"What? Just because of the flying? She'll get used to it with practice." I couldn't understand why she would take the trouble of joining just to quit the first week in.

"That's what I told her too, but she insists this was never for her. She's going to take an internship in the legal department and see where that leads," he sighed, pulling out the desk chair and slumping into it.

"She's too clever for this job anyhow," I placated. "That might suit her better."

Potter shrugged and nodded. "I know. It's just sort of weird, you know? The three of us have always been together."

It was odd having Potter talk to me like I was more than just a thorn in his side. I didn't know why he was doing it at all, maybe he was lonely, maybe he was as tired of fighting as I was, maybe it was something else altogether, but I found myself not minding as much as I thought I would.

"You still have Weasley," I pointed out.

"I know, and it's not as though I'll never see Mione again, but it's a bit odd for me. I feel like I'm back at the Dursleys again," he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"Your aunt and uncle?" I asked, wanting to confirm my suspicion. I'd only heard bits and pieces about Potter's time before Hogwarts. I knew he didn't like his family, because he always looked so sullen when he boarded the train for the summer, but aside from that I didn't know much about them.

He nodded. "Yeah. They're not the best people to be related to. What about you?" he asked, changing the subject quickly. "How's your mum?" The question caught me off guard and I just blinked at him for a moment and his face turned beet red. "I'm sorry," he added hastily, "I didn't mean to pry."

"No," I shouted, startling myself with my insistence before taking a deep breath. "I just…I hadn't expected you to ask about her."

"Oh," he muttered, dragging his trainer across the carpet and watching its progress intently.

"She's not well," I admitted at last. "She's been inconsolable since father's death, and I'm afraid she's deteriorating rather quickly. I'm worried about her." I hadn't talked about my mother's condition with anyone and I was surprised at what a relief it was just to say those simple words aloud, even if it was directed at Potter of all people.

"Malfoy, I'm sorry," he told me, and it didn't seem to matter how long I searched his gaze or tone for condescension, he seemed genuine in his sentiment.

"Thanks," I replied, suddenly feeling quite awkward. "Well, I suppose I should start getting ready for bed," I muttered, pulling myself up and stretching widely. It wasn't until I caught sight of Potter's glazed eyes that I remembered my game and I slipped carefully out of bed and swaggered over to him. "Shower?" I asked and watched him blink up at me, as if swimming up to the surface of some deep pool.

"Pardon?" he squeaked, and I could only possibly call it a squeak because it was so high and adorably fragile sounding.

"Are you planning to take a shower? Or do you mind if I hop in?" I clarified.

"Oh, er, you can first if you like," he replied quickly, stumbling over his words in his haste to get them out of his mouth.

"And I'd appreciate it if you don't freeze me out this time," I mentioned lightly. "I swear, I think my cock tried to recede back inside of me the water was so cold."

He laughed, a shaky broken sound, his eyes darting from my face and down to my thin pajama bottoms. "Right. Sorry about that."

"I deserved it," I assured him, whether I believed it or not, and shut the door firmly behind me as I left Potter in the bedroom thinking about my cock.

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Author's Note: Oh, how I love a teasing Malfoy and an oblivious Potter. Stay tuned for part 2.


	2. Part 2

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey for her beta work on this part. This story might end up being longer than the original 3 parts I'd thought it would be.

Part 2

The following weeks provided me plenty of teasing fodder for Potter. He seemed endlessly distracted by me to the point of hilarity. It got to the point where I hardly needed to try, which wasn't nearly as fun as it had been in the start. The bright side, if you could call it that, was that Harry seemed more willing to open up and be friendly toward me. Albeit, there was that strange snapping he'd occasionally slip into if I said something obscure that offended him, as if he had two heads with completely different opinions about me.

"So, tell me then, why didn't you try and scoop up Weasel as a partner when Granger dropped out of the program?" I asked one evening. He was sprawled up on the top bunk, his leg hanging over the edge. Apparently the twin bed just couldn't contain him entirely. Three times I nearly leaned up and bit the appendage, or licked it or kissed it, anything – just to see what he would do. I resisted though, and patted myself on the back for my restraint.

"His name is Ron," spat the head that didn't care too much for me. Now that I thought about it, perhaps Potter's head was split into three, one that hated me, one that didn't think I was so bad, and one that simply wanted to shag me senseless. I had yet to decide which I preferred.

"Well, I'm sure he'd have an aneurysm if I called him that," I noted. There was a long pause from above, halted with a light chuckle.

"I suppose that's true enough. You really should try getting along with the other trainers though, they might be your workmates one day," he suggested wisely. I had been thinking the same thing; only I really didn't want to get to know any of them better. How would it make me a more successful Auror if I knew their pets' names or what alcohol they preferred? When I made it into the department, I had no intentions of spending more time with these people than was absolutely necessary, so I didn't know why I should bother to put up with their leery stares and backhanded comments now.

"What if I called him Won-Won?" I offered. "Do you think he'd let me have lunch with him then?"

Harry snickered manically and his dangling leg disappeared to be replaced by his head. His hair floated around him like an ebony halo and his face was already pink from the blood rushing to his head. He looked like an intoxicated angel and I laughed aloud at the ridiculously cheery look on his face.

"Would you actually do it?! Merlin, I would give anything to see Ron's face if you called him that," he challenged and I raised a delicate blond eyebrow in response.

"Careful with your promises, Potter," I replied coyly, leaning up from where I was sitting so that our faces were merely inches apart. The laughter died abruptly on his lips as he stared back at me for a moment before pulling back up to his own level. I smirked into the silence that followed the movement and waited for him to say something else.

"I just thought it would be a laugh," he said at last.

"I'm sure it would be, but if I were to make a gesture that would humiliate bothWeasley and myself, I would need a little incentive," I explained.

"I take it Malfoys do nothing for free," Harry muttered, the bitterness returning.

I pulled myself up and stood in front of our joined beds. Drawn up to my full height I could easily see Harry's bunk and I leaned against it, placing my chin demurely on my folded arms, gazing across the mattress at him. He'd retreated to the far corner, his knees brought up to his chest as if he was afraid of me, but that would have been impossible.

"If it pleases you, I would do it," I told him. I don't know why I said it but it seemed to shake something loose inside of Harry and he relaxed, letting his legs sag back to the bed. The movement parted them and gave me a direct view of his groin, but I doubted that was his intention or that he was even aware of what my view might be from this angle.

"Why?" he asked hesitantly.

"We're partners, you and I. We should get along," I reasoned.

"We have been," he pointed out and I conceded with a nod.

"Mostly, yes." His eyes sparkled with challenge at my words and it was all I could do not to grin at his falling into my easy trap.

"What else do you want?" he asked, bristled and obstinate.

I shrugged, which jostled my head slightly and a bit of hair fell into my face. Before I could brush it away, however, Harry had leaned forward to take care of it for me, tucking it gently behind my ear. My eyes widened ever so slightly at the action and he froze, his fingers still lodged in my hair as if he couldn't believe he'd just touched me. He'd never been so overt in his attraction toward me before, and I wasn't sure what to do about it. This charade was both progressing too quickly and not quickly enough.

I slowly reached up and closed my hand over his, watching as his face braced for rejection. I carefully pulled his fingers from my hair but held them tightly when he tried to pull from my grasp. He seemed so thoroughly confused and I adored that look on the powerful Gryffindor. I didn't let go of his hand, merely caressed his palm with my thumb as we sat there and stared at one another.

Moments flew by, his eyes going from wide, green orbs to hooded dark contentment at my petting. I liked that I had such an effect on him with just a small, innocent touch and I wasn't quite ready to give that sensation up when he cleared his throat, pulling his hand from my grasp.

"I suppose we should be getting to sleep," he rasped, blinking down at me.

I nodded, but I lingered there, making no move to return to my own bunk until he nervously chewed his lip, nearly causing me to laugh. I grinned instead and sunk back down out of sight. "Goodnight, Harry," I whispered and I heard him gasp lightly at the use of his given name.

"Night," he replied and I chuckled to myself in silence, wondering how far I'd be able to press him the next time.

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The next day brought awkward glances and lots of Harry running his hands through his messy locks, which seemed to be what he did when either nervous or frustrated or both. It was time for Legilimency lessons, and Harry seemed anxious.

"I know we're sort of friends now, but I don't think I'm comfortable with you reading my mind," he said plainly. I appreciated the honesty, but oddly it still stung to hear.

"You can go first then," I prompted.

"Really?" Harry asked, incredulously. "You don't mind?"

"I've been at this since before you knew you were a wizard, Potter. Just get on with it," I told him. His first attempt was a complete and utter failure, leaving him shaking slightly from the effort. My mind remained impenetrable and he was already getting frustrated. "Clear your mind, Potter, you're trying too hard."

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, before nodding as he faced me again, wand drawn. "_Legilimens_."

The attempt was still weak, but I pushed a few harmless memories to the forefront, projecting them at him to try and get him to latch on to those and press forward with his power, sort of giving him a taste of what was to come.

It worked, and he gasped as an image of me riding one of my favorite horses, Alabaster, accosted him. As I predicted, it whetted his appetite for more and he added power to the spell, closing his eyes as he watched me at supper with my grandmother Black and eavesdropped on a fight I'd had with Crabbe in Second Year. The memory brought a twinge of pain along with it as I remembered the Fiendfyre that took his life, the same tragic moment that Potter had saved mine. Thinking of the incident in the Room of Requirement made those images rush to the front of my mind, letting Potter take a peek at the tremendous agony and relief I'd felt in that moment.

He broke the spell with an audible gasp and stared at me with piercing green eyes. "I would have saved him if I could. Even though he started the blasted spell," he whispered, rubbing his temples slightly. I knew from experience that having someone else's memories inside your own head for even a few moments could cause excruciating headaches, especially for amateurs like Potter.

"It was his choice," I muttered. "Fucking idiot," I spat, though it was only to mask the tears trying to escape my eyes. I missed the sorry lout. In his own weird way, Crabbe was my favorite of the pair who stalked my shadow, even though he'd betrayed me in the end. I'd taken him for granted until that night, and now it did me no good to think otherwise.

"I can't believe it worked," he said, thankfully sensing that I needed a change of topic as we focused on the task at hand.

"Well, I helped a bit, but I reckon next time you might get the hang of it straight away," I instructed.

"You helped?" he asked curiously and I sneered at him.

"You didn't think that was all Gryffindor gusto did you?" I asked, but it was clear by the sheepish reddening of his cheeks that that was exactly what he'd thought. "I projected a few memories to pull you in," I informed him.

"So the Fiendfyre?" he asked and I looked away abruptly. How had we come full circle to that?

"You pulled that from my head yourself," I conceded. "So, it was a good start."

"Thanks," he replied, beaming at me as if I'd told him he had the most beautiful cock in the world. "You're a better teacher than Snape."

"Why don't we steer away from topics like that," I muttered, though I was mildly curious how he had even discussed the subject of mind reading with Severus. "I'd rather keep the sad memories from the war locked up tight."

"Right," he whispered, nodding his acceptance of my barter.

"How about you give it another go," I suggested, a wicked scheme coming to mind. I would take both our thoughts far away from the war and continue my seduction of Potter in one fell swoop.

As he readied himself, I did the same. I thought of every devious thing I could remember and pushed them to the front of my conscious, so that when he shouted the spell, he was accosted with images he certainly wouldn't be expecting.

I started mildly, letting him watch me in the shower for a few moments before shifting it to a memory of me wanking in bed, slowly pulling myself off with languid, strokes as I panted and rose toward climax. After that I pulled out all the stops and allowed him to view the time that Cormac McLaggen sucked me off. It was after Gryffindor tryouts. The boy had been careless enough to bet me a blowjob that he'd get on the team. I knew Potter's tendency to preserve friendship over anything else and I took the bet willingly. When he made the wager, McLaggen had no idea I was bent and would enjoy the pleasure even if I were to lose. He was a lovely boy, and I had a feeling mine hadn't been his first blowjob.

The look of gaping surprise on Potter's face was so worth the effort, and I smirked as the wand dropped from his hand and the spell was suddenly broken. I tried to look embarrassed, as if I hadn't wanted him to see those memories at all, but I had no idea if I'd affected it because he turned and bolted from class in the next moment. I had to fight not to snicker. The instructor would already assume I'd been the cause of Harry's distress without my giggling like a loon at his quick departure.

When Cockburn glanced my way I merely shrugged and picked up Potter's wand, intent on getting it back to him after class.

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When I got to our room, Potter was already there. I offered him his wand and he took it without a word, just staring at me oddly from a few feet away. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you," I began, but Potter held up his hand to halt me.

"Are you gay?" he asked, his voice the barest of whispers.

"You could safely assume as much," I replied, leaning against the wall. "Does that bother you?"

"No," he replied too quickly, blushing, as he seemed to realize that fact himself. "I didn't know."

"Not a lot of people do. I'd appreciate it if it stayed that way," I told him. The last thing I needed was for the word fag to be added and further besmirch the Malfoy name. As of yet, wizarding society was only slightly more accommodating to Homosexuals than Muggles were, and Muggles seemed downright charitable toward the gays in comparison to the pure-blood families. Having a son or daughter who only mated with their own sex meant no heirs. No heirs meant the family line would eventually die out completely. There was no greater offence to a pure-blood than to be sterile or gay. I myself fought against my true nature for a long time, eventually resolving that no matter what I did on the side, I would have to take a wife and bed her eventually.

"I won't tell anyone," Harry replied hastily and then fell silent as I slipped over to sit on the edge of my bed. He watched me with glowing eyes and I wondered how aware he was of his attraction to men, or if it had ever manifested itself before he first noticed me that way. I had been aware of my own desires my whole life it seemed, but Potter had dated girls before, so perhaps he'd never noticed his erection growing around another man before, though it was fairly prevalent now.

"Can I ask you a question?" he breathed, the faintest of whispers.

"Of course." I wouldn't begrudge him that, especially when he gazed at me with such open, vulnerable interest.

"What does…it feel like?" he asked, pulling out one of the desk chairs and sitting on the end of it, his arse nearly hanging off the thing, he'd pushed himself so far forward.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, Potter." I wasn't handing him anything. If he wanted to know anything more about my experiences than I had already shown him he was going to have to pull it from me.

"Well," he started, and he looked terrified the poor dear, before swallowing down his fear and mustering up some of that Gryffindor courage I'd heard about. "What's it like to kiss another man?"

I arched my eyebrows in challenge and smirked slightly. "Would you like me to show you?"

"I just walked right into that one, didn't I?" he huffed, running a hand through his hair.

I smiled and nodded and then shrugged elegantly. "I suppose it's just like kissing a girl. It's different with everyone you try it with. Better with some, worse with others."

Harry seemed to think that over, mulling it around before nodding. "I get that, I suppose. And the rest of it?" I stared at him with feigned confusion until he continued. "Sex and whatnot," he blurted suddenly and I smiled at his deep flush.

"I've never had what I would consider true sex with another man, as in, I've never penetrated someone or vice versa, though I imagine it would be brilliant," I told him. I'd never told anyone that I was a virgin before, and I wasn't sure why I was telling Potter, but something compelled me to be honest while the boy looked at me with those sappy green eyes.

"Oh," he replied, as if surprised, or maybe disappointed. "Do you want to?"

"Of course," I chuckled, "eventually. I suppose finding a willing bloke would be the first step." I let the weight of my words hang in the air between us and watched him gulp them down and file them away.

"Were you serious before…about showing me?" he asked, and I wouldn't have heard him if not for the lack of distance between us. Somehow, throughout the conversation, we'd started inching closer to one another, though I was fairly certain that most of the movement was on his part. Had to be.

"Are you asking me to kiss you, Potter?" I asked imperiously and he frowned slightly.

"No, I mean, yes…" He sighed, running a hand through that tousled hair again. The gesture made him seem fragile, and it started to grow on me. "Maybe," he finished with an exasperated puff of air.

"Come here," I told him, gesturing to the spot beside me on the bed. He complied, moving swiftly yet somehow awkwardly to sit right next to me. His thigh was pressed into mine and he just stared at it, as if being so close to a Malfoy was a blasphemy. Maybe it was.

I took his chin in my hand and lifted his face so that I could lock eyes with him. His gaze was swimming with emotion, fear, anxiety, eagerness, hunger, all floated for purchase within those emerald depths.

"No one will know about this, right?" he whispered as an afterthought.

"Would you pull away from me right now if I told you that I'd be announcing it to the Daily Prophet in the morning?" I asked him, and he didn't answer, though he frowned at me. More importantly, he didn't break my grip on his chin. "I won't utter a word. Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Don't say that!" he ordered, seemingly before he could halt himself.

I smiled at his sudden outburst and leaned in, nibbling lightly on his bottom lip before sliding my wet tongue across its dry surface. He let out a sharp gasp at the contact and I took my advantage, pressing my lips fully against his fuller and pliable ones. He kissed back, melding us together shoulder to hip as he did, and he made the most delicious noises as I plunged my tongue into his mouth, tasting every last inch of him.

To my own surprise, Potter was rather adept at kissing, and I enjoyed it quite more than I'd expected. I felt my cock respond to him at once, growing uncomfortable in my restrictive uniform. He'd been obviously hard from the moment he sat down, so I reached across tentatively and stroked him through his trousers as we kissed, eliciting another gasp as wide green eyes opened to meet my own stormy gray.

I didn't stop, preferring to see how far he'd let me push the encounter before he cut me off. I cupped his jaw with my other hand, letting my fingertips trail into his wild hair, finding it surprisingly soft. I shifted away when he let loose a strangled cry and shoved the heel of his hand to halt my strokes, but I had already felt the wetness accumulate there and held him still as he shuddered his release.

"Merlin," he gasped out, eyes closed, breathing heavy.

"It's Draco, actually," I replied with a smirk and he blushed an even deeper shade of crimson.

It took him a moment to compose himself, but when he did, he leaned forward and captured my lips in a quick peck and then swiftly moved up to his own bunk. I rolled my eyes but kept silent, figuring it might be too soon to persuade Potter to return the favor. I was perfectly adept at getting myself off anyway, and did so that night to the memory of kissing Potter's perfectly pouting lips while the Gryffindor laid above me in silence.

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Potter amused me greatly the next morning as he avoided me like the plague. Apparently the 'G' in Gryffindor stood for guilt, because he was oozing the distasteful emotion through every pore. I hoped it wasn't contagious. Personally, I had no regrets over our exchange, aside from the fact that he bolted immediately afterward. I know he was supposed to be my enemy, but I hadn't been feeling too hostile toward him as of late and if the expediency of his orgasm the night before was any indication, neither was Potter feeling unfriendly toward me.

He certainly was now though, but I shrugged it off. He could push me away and pretend I forced him into his slow spiral or debauchery all he liked, but deep down, he knew the truth. He'd asked me to kiss him and he didn't complain even once as I got him off and I'm sure that truth rang like a bell in his mind as he persistently avoided my gaze.

"Shall we go over yesterday's lesson?" I suggested. "Are you ready to try again?"

"No," he replied flatly.

"There is hardly any choice, Potter. You need to master both Legilimency and Occlumency in order to pass through training. Or do you want to find yourself the way of Vane and Kimmins?" I asked. Those two had already been removed from the program because of their shoddy performance in other tasks. I knew the mild threat would get him into the right mindset.

"Fine," he ground out, clearly unhappy with me. "Let's give Occlumency a go then."

"As you wish," I replied with a mocking bow. "Are you prepared to shield yourself against me?"

"I thought-" he began, looking suddenly ill, "I thought I could try and break through your barriers."

"I assure you that would be an impossibility until you master Legilimency. It's you who needs the practice, not I." I had already explained all this to him yesterday, but apparently one single kiss turned his mind to mush.

He remained silent, probably not arguing only because he knew I was right and that he desperately needed my assistance. I watched as his jaw stiffened, remembering the slack feel of it beneath my fingers last night, and then his shoulders squared, preparing for the worst. "I'm ready."

I cast the spell and easily breached the barrier around Potter's mind as if it was made with gossamer fabric. I pulled out the moment he realized I'd broken through so as not to spook him into halting our progress altogether.

"You can't fight me out of your mind with physical strength, Potter. You have to use _memory_ strength. If someone powerful tries to break into your mind, you can't block them out entirely. You have to focus on one thing, one memory, something that will give you strength to keep them from delving further. Something that you want to hold on to, a memory that will keep your attention rooted in place," I explained.

"But Snape said-"

"Forget what he told you. Clearly his method doesn't work for you," I told him. "Liken the magic to a Patronus," I reasoned and he perked up considerably. "Conjure a memory that makes you feel invulnerable. Instead of happy thoughts, think powerful thoughts."

His countenance changed and he nodded, so I tried again. This time the wall I met was constructed of thick stones, but there were cracks, places where the mortar had broken away. He would have to work on that but the effect was infinitely better than before. I think it was the first time I realized that Potter was a force to be reckoned with. Given the right training, Potter could be very powerful indeed, a power that would have nothing to do with his lucky destruction of Voldemort.

"Good," I told him when I backed off. "Not perfect, but much better."

His face broke into a grin and I found myself smiling back at him until he realized what he was doing and shut down again. "Thanks," he muttered and steeled himself. "Again."

We spent most of the day practicing, Potter adjusting memories until he got the right fit, one that made his barriers as thick as steel. He was concentrating on the Forbidden Forest, which surprised me. That place always made me feel like a jittery wreck, but Potter was thinking of walking through the forest and standing before Voldemort, of all people, and letting the man murder him. It was the most uncanny thing I could imagine, and Potter found so much strength in that memory that he could effectively fight me out of his mind and away from all his other thoughts.

"You're an enigma, Potter," I murmured in his direction. If he heard me he ignored it and soon the day was ending and Potter disappeared as he always did, not returning again until late that night.

I feigned sleep when he got to our room that night and heard his sigh of relief. I watched him undress through slatted eyes and let my unknown gaze linger over his body for a moment. He was quite fit and the tanned complexion was uniform all over his body, except the spots where faded scars gleamed pink in what little light there was in the room. A moment of rage flared through me as I stared at them, knowing that my own father had probably inflicted at least one of them. So many people had hurt this man, yet he wasn't broken, far from it. I respected that, admired it even, which I realized, only too late, was my ultimate undoing.

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That night his screaming woke me up again, but instead of casting a silencing bubble around his bed as I usually did, I found myself climbing up and soothing him back into restfulness personally. All it took was a soft touch and some calming words and he was back to breathing levelly, his nightmare apparently fleeing him. I pressed a kiss against the famous scar on his forehead and he smiled in his sleep, a smile that was all mine.

When I tried to climb back to my own bed, he clung to me like a favorite teddy but I carefully pried his fingers away. I refused to deal with the aftermath of waking up in his bed when a kiss had practically driven him mad with shame, or whatever it was that fueled his biting tones toward me.

I didn't fall back to sleep that night. Instead, I found myself staring up at him through the mattress as if I could see him there. I sent my magic probing and caught flickers of his dreams. He was having a meal with the Weasley family, although, in his mind they were all far more attractive than they were in reality, especially the girl. I saw him kissing her and I felt that it was a goodbye kiss, but when he opened his eyes, her face melted into mine and I nearly gasped as I felt his emotions roil through him. Lust was there like a thick blanket that nearly smothered me, but under that was confusion, so much anguish and something else, something deeper that I didn't recognize and I was fairly certain that he didn't either.

I slowly extracted myself from his dreams, feeling a smidgeon of that Gryffindor guilt for being there to begin with…so it is contagious.

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"Do you mind, we're trying to have a private chat here, Malfoy," Weasley hissed as I approached him and Potter standing idly to the side of the room.

"Why would I mind?" I asked, leaning casually against the wall beside them. "By all means, carry on."

"Malfoy," Potter sighed, his tone a warning.

"You expect me to get reprimanded again when I'm found sans partner? I think not," I informed him. "If you can't have this little talk in front of me, then have it outside of class."

Weasley's face turned eight shades of red before Harry put a placating hand on his arm and calmed him down to only five shades. "Ron was just informing me that Gin wants to see me this weekend."

"Oh," I muttered, feigning disinterest. "That's a match made in heaven isn't it? I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Weasley spat but Harry seemed to fall back into himself, shutting down his usually expressive eyes at my words.

"What's wrong Won-Won?" I asked, noting Harry's immediate grin. "Do you fear the big bad Draco will ruin Potter's date with Weasel-ette?"

"Her name is Ginny," he spat, rounding on me until Harry stood between us.

"Just calm down, Ron. Malfoy's just being a prat," he noted, emphasizing his words with a glare in my direction.

"I don't know how you sleep with this jerk every night," Weasley muttered and I smirked delicately.

"Did you tell him we were sleeping together?" I asked Harry, watching him blush furiously. "Why you naughty, naughty boy."

"Gross, Malfoy. You know I didn't mean it that way," Weasley scoffed, practically gagging on the insinuation.

"Let's just go back to our desk," Potter suggested, grabbing my arm gruffly and leading me across the room, but we didn't go back to our desk. When Weasley wasn't looking he lead me outside the room and into an empty corridor. "Did you have to do that?" he hissed when we were out of earshot of his friend.

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

Harry looked at me as though I knew very well what he meant. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn't. "Plant those ideas in his mind."

I chuckled and leaned against the wall, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "You act as though I spilled some dirty secret, Potter. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Of course I do," he spat. "And you know it."

"Am I really so repugnant?" I asked, anger leaking into my voice for the first time to mask the sting I felt at his words.

"No!" he nearly shouted, looking as if I was being ridiculous until he carefully schooled his features back to a look of thick disdain. "It's just wrong."

"Why?"

The question seemed to throw him, and he blinked at me for a few minutes in surprise. "It's unnatural."

I grabbed him by the shoulders, too fast for him to bat me away and whirled him, pinning Potter against the wall I was just occupying. I kissed him hard and fierce and frenzied, swallowing down his moans and whimpers of pleasure as he pressed more fully against me in my probing. "Call it unnatural again," I challenged when I broke the kiss.

"I can't do this," he whispered after regaining his breath. "It's your fault I feel this way."

"Are you trying to tell me that I corrupted you?" I hissed, seething with anger. "It was _you_ who asked for that first kiss. _You_ who leers at me all the time like I'm some delicious meal."

His face flared to life and he tried to shove me away from him but I held steady, barely. "I don't want this."

"Your body tells a different story," I replied, rubbing against his straining erection until his eyes glazed over and his head lolled back.

"I can't," he whispered weakly as I stroked him through his trousers again. "I want to, but I can't."

He made no effort to shove me away again, melting into my embrace, his own hands roaming my flesh until he came across the matching bulge in my own trousers. His eyes went wide then, while his hand lingered over the fabric there. So many things flickered through his gaze, running, screaming, giving in, wanting more. He seemed to steel himself, the same way he had with our lesson and he stroked me, matching my own movements until we were rutting against one another like teenagers. He let out a strangled grunt as he came, whispering something that sounded surprisingly like 'fuck, Draco', but he kept the pace on my own cock and I spilled myself for him a few strokes later and sagged against him.

The moment I pulled away, placing a chaste kiss on his lips, his eyes were burning green flames of shock and remorse. "No one need know," I assured him. "It will be our little secret."

He nodded curtly, straightening himself as I cast a cleansing Charm on both of us. "No one finds out," he repeated and we both returned to the classroom without another word.

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There was no delay in Potter returning to our room that night as there usually was. In fact, when I returned from dinner he was already there. He rushed at me and I pulled my wand, ready to fend off an attack, but he only attacked my lips, shoving me against the door and devouring me as if he hadn't had a meal in weeks. I was instantly hard from the sheer idea of his eagerness and I showed him what he'd done to me by grinding into his thigh.

He let out a gasping cry, desire and surprise mingled together in a sound that was so intoxicating to my ears. "I've been thinking about you all day," he admitted breathily. "It's like you've planted yourself inside my mind and taken permanent residence."

"If you're accusing me of-" I began, blood boiling, but he cut me off with another kiss.

"No, I know you didn't do anything to me. You're fucking hot, Malfoy. I couldn't deny it forever, right?" he asked me cheekily and I melted into this newfound confidence he was exuding.

"It's rare that anyone can," I replied haughtily, all sneering cut off when he grabbed my aching cock through my trousers.

"Are you serious about not telling anyone? Because if you tell a soul about what we do here…." His voice trailed off at the end, the warning dying abruptly on his lips when he looked up into my eyes. "I just don't think I could stand to have anyone know yet."

"Yet? Do you think I want people to know? A pure-blood is not permitted to be gay, Potter. It would surely mean the death of my poor mother. I have an heir to produce after all," I snapped. He seemed to process that and the idea shocked him.

"You plan to marry a woman?" he asked, as if the idea were more foreign to him than what we were doing right then. It was absurd, as if he expected for this to transgress into something permanent, something real.

"Why? Are you proposing, Potter?" I asked bitterly, and he rolled his eyes.

"Of course not, we're not even dating, but I thought-"

"You thought that I live in a fantasy world that allows me to marry for love?" I tried and he grimaced. "Well, I assure you I don't, but perhaps if a property there becomes available I'll buy in."

"You could adopt," he reasoned, or at least the beautiful fool thought he was being reasonable.

"Heir, Potter. That means blood of my blood, unless of course you know of a way that a man could become pregnant." He made a disgusted face at me and I nodded. "I thought not."

"Why not just donate your sperm to some surrogate or something," he replied.

"It would be a bastard were I not to be married to her when the woman conceived. It would be marred by shame and I can't bear to bring any more shame to the Malfoy name." His face took on a softer expression that I'd only seen directed at Weasley or Granger, and it felt off to have that subtle smile honing in on me.

"So, you're stuck. Doomed to be unhappy no matter what you choose," he whispered, his voice tinged with pity and I shoved him away.

"Don't act as though my predicament matters to you in the least, Potter. I'm content with my lot in life and quite frankly it's none of your business," I scoffed, moving across to grab the door handle.

"You're leaving?" he asked and I nodded.

"You need to decide what it is you want, Potter. I'm not going to fall in love with you and we're not going to date and be all lovey-dovey in public, so you can wipe that out of your head right now. If you want to get off, I'll be happy to oblige, but I don't need your soft glances and pity. Save those for your girl-weasel." With that, I turned and left him staring incredulously at my back. I never knew then how false all those words had been, or how much I might one day regret having ever uttered them.

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Author's Note: Well. Draco and Harry seem to be doing bitchy trade-off. Go figure.


	3. Part 3

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey for the beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed so far. There should only be one part left unless things get out of hand when I'm writing part 4…which I won't rule out when it comes to this pair.

Part 3

Harry was thankfully asleep by the time I got back to the room, and we avoided the conversation about what relationship – or lack thereof – Potter would be willing to accept from me after that. I'd gladly meet his physical needs, but I wasn't willing to go beyond that. I wasn't a hearts and flowers type of bloke, and he would never get that from me, but I'd drop to my knees and suck him off any time he liked.

A week passed where Potter and I tiptoed around the subject but remained amicable - in private at least. In public we were just as stormy as ever. It was amusing to see his personality shift the moment we walked into the training room, and the dedication he put into his act to show Weasley that nothing was going on between us. It was extra funny because at the time, nothing was.

The following Saturday brought turmoil though, a stinging sensation that went straight to my heart and one I had not anticipated.

I strolled into our room after lunch and halted in the doorway, barely mustering the coordination to shut the door behind me. "You look," I stammered, unable to take my eyes off his form long enough to speak coherently. Harry was standing by the desk, bending over to scribble a note, but his eyes met mine across the room the moment I opened my mouth.

His arse was clad in the most delicious denim I'd ever seen, the color a deep gray with a wash that emphasized his muscular legs and pert backside. His trainers were plain and black, but I paid very little attention to his feet when his shirt fit him so amazingly well, and the emerald green color of it made his eyes glisten. "Good," I finished with a thick swallow as I imagined peeling those jeans off his lithe body as he moaned and writhed at my touch. I'd always known Potter was attractive, but in the frumpy robes he often wore, he never showed off quite how handsome he truly was. I was instantly hard at the sight and stalked over to him, pressing my body into his without thinking.

He gasped and rutted against me, his own erection matching mine within moments. When I grabbed his jaw, angling for a kiss, he stopped me and stepped back, panting heavily. "I can't right now," he rasped, his eyes flicking to the note on the desk. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Gin."

"Ah," I breathed, nodding casually while something vicious and unnamed gnawed away at my gut. "I remember now, date night."

He nodded, looking almost guilty. I liked that he did, even though I knew I shouldn't be concerned one way or another. What did I care if he ran off and shagged the Weasley girl? It wasn't as if Potter belonged to me, but I realized in that moment that I wanted him to. I wanted him to dash everything aside and stay there with me instead of running off to be with her.

"Later?" he offered and I waved my hand in a blasé movement before turning my head so I could hide the shame I felt at wanting more from Harry, more than he could give and more than I could rightly expect.

"Perhaps," I answered noncommittally and gestured that he should just leave. He hesitated, rocking between the foot that would carry him to the door and the one that would plant him closer to me, but I only rolled my eyes at him.

"Get going, or else you'll have to make up a story as to why you're late, and I don't think you'd fancy having to explain my teeth marks all over your body," I purred, leaning in with my threat.

He shuddered, his eyes fluttering into a half-lidded state, but he shook himself out of his daze and nodded curtly before walking to the door and leaving me alone in the room. My gaze went instantly to the scrap of parchment on the desk and a smile came unbidden to my lips.

'_Draco'_, it said and I couldn't banish the glee I felt at him calling me by my given name even though I knew how ridiculous and un-Malfoy-like the emotion was. '_I'll be at the Burrow, probably late. I want to talk to you tomorrow though, so could you wait for me before you go to breakfast? I just want to clear up a few….'_

The note ended abruptly, probably because I entered the room and thoroughly distracted him as much as the sight of him had distracted me. It frightened me how attractive I had found him in that moment, and it angered me that he was making himself so delicious looking for the Weasel-ette. I had no reason to be jealous, and my logical Slytherin mind reminded me that I had even pointed out to him that I wouldn't get emotionally attached. But here I was, doing just that. I wanted to drive hot pokers into my eyes for my own idiocy, but that wouldn't have done much good in the long run – or the short run for that matter.

I would use this evening apart to remind myself who I was. I was a Malfoy, and we didn't get attached to other people through base carnal pleasures. I could do what I wanted with Potter, I could even fuck him, and still I would remain impassive and emotionless. I would.

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That night I was awoken by a peculiar sound. I chastised myself for not having woken up when Potter got back, a fine Auror I was turning out to be, but it was too late to do anything about that now. The fact remained that he had come back and now he was in the bunk above me making harried, grunting sounds. It took me a moment to emerge enough from my sleepy fog to realize what was going on.

Potter was pulling himself off in the bed just above me.

The idea thrilled me until I remembered where he'd just been. Apparently the Weasel-ette wasn't giving her freckled body up to Potter just yet and now he was likely wanking to the image of her. As much as I loathed the idea of seeing any of the Weasleys nude, I was curious as to what exactly Potter fantasized about, so I sent softly probing mental fingers out, catching onto the thought that was foremost in Potter's mind and nearly gasped.

It was me Potter was thinking about as his fist worked his cock furiously. He was imagining me down on my knees, kissing and licking and sucking on his engorged prick, and I felt my own arousal stir at the intoxicating daydream.

Throwing caution to the wind, I sprung quietly out of bed and glanced up at him. His eyes were pressed shut, his breathing so heavy he didn't hear me as I crept into bed with him. At least I wasn't alone at being a shoddy Auror. It wasn't until my own hand replaced his that he half-shouted his surprise.

I smirked at him, picking up the rhythm of his strokes with my hand and his fell away, his head lolling back without a word. When my hand moved away, he whimpered in protest, but his whines soon turned into keening gasps as I took him in my mouth. Potter was thick and velvety on my tongue and I put my best effort into making him scream his orgasm. It wasn't much of a challenge as it turned out. As I swallowed down the last drops of him, his fingers found their way into my hair and he tugged, making me moan around his softening cock.

He was suddenly frantic, pulling my face up to his, and he kissed me as if my lips were the key to eternal life. He plunged his tongue into my mouth, tasting his own flavors mingled with mine and he groaned as he devoured me. When those lips shifted to my neck, I gave him an appreciative purr, and then they shifted again, to my chest this time.

Potter worked his way slowly down my bare torso until he reached the straining hem of my pajama bottoms. His tongue ran tentatively underneath, pulling back slightly as he tasted the accumulated pre-come that had leaked from my pulsing cock. He stared up at me from his position, his sated flush turning to slight embarrassment. I was going to laugh at my own poor luck if he happened to find semen distasteful, but he smiled shyly and ran a tongue over his bottom lip. "It's sort of salty," he commented and I smiled, nodding in approval.

"Bitter as well," I added, trying to give him an out, though Merlin only knew why I was being so generous. The Slytherin in me should have been demanding an eye for an eye.

"Not too bitter," he replied and yanked down my trousers to keep me from replying. It worked. The sight of Harry Potter hovering over my cock with his lips red and parted nearly made me come on the spot, but then those lips descended and kissed the throbbing vein that ran the length of my prick and I hissed at the heady sensation.

Then a tongue slid along my shaft, followed by those luscious lips taking the head into his mouth. I moaned, low and thick and all for Harry and he seemed to respond to the sound and it spurred him on. He sucked me, his cheeks hollowing out with the effort and my hands scrambled for something to grip. I didn't want to grab hold of his hair, or else then I'd have no reason to keep myself from thrusting into his willing mouth. This was presumably Potter's first blowjob. I didn't want to scare him off so soon.

I hissed sharply when teeth grazed me, and his eyes popped open in surprise, guilt written clearly in those luminescent eyes. "Sorry," he whispered in apology, pulling off of me, but that was worse than the slight pain from his teeth, so I shook my head.

"There's a learning curve is all," I told him breathily. "You just need more practice," I teased, my eyebrow raised in challenge.

"I suppose you'd be the willing recipient of said practice?" he asked me cheekily and I leveled him with a possessive glare, but couldn't bring myself to erase it.

"Is there someone else's cock you plan to be sucking, Potter?" I demanded and he shook his head, a knowing smile tinting his lips a darker red.

"Only you, Malfoy, only you," he assured and went back to work with such fervor that I began to wonder if this was indeed his first time.

I screamed his name when I came, and not the surname I should have shouted. The word 'Harry' still tingled on my lips for several minutes after he sputtered and swallowed down my ejaculation, grinning proudly when he didn't cough it back up. I wasted no time pulling him against me and kissing him once more. I adored the taste of Potter, and the fact that those lips had just been wrapped around my erection made the kiss that much sweeter.

"You called me Harry," he commented, purring it against my ear in a lover's whisper. He was my lover now, I had laid claim to his mouth and his cock, even if I would never lay claim to his heart.

"It was a fluke, I assure you," I told him blandly, not letting him shift away in indignation like he wanted to. "Don't get so moody." I held him tightly to me and shifted so that I could smooth away the sweaty hair pressed to his forehead and I kissed him again. "You're beautiful and I want you, but I told you that I'm not going to fall in love with you."

"I know that," he snapped, somewhat defensively, but my previous words seemed to have soothed him somewhat. "But that doesn't mean you can't call me Harry."

"That's exactly what it means," I replied, not understanding why he didn't get it.

He shook his head, obviously growing frustrated, but I kissed him and it stilled his movements until I parted slightly so that we could breathe. "But my _name_ is _Harry_," he persisted, as if we'd never kissed at all.

I closed my eyes and saw his sweet face there, even in the whirling blackness of my thoughts. When I opened them again he had the most adorable pout that I just wanted to eat up, but I held firm. "What would Weasley say if we went into training tomorrow and I called you Harry?"

I knew my voice sounded deep and full of lust when I pronounced the name, because that was the way it made me feel, and his glazed over vision seemed to indicate that he'd noticed.

"If you say it like that I'm sure he'll be suspicious," Harry sighed at last, snuggling into my side as if he were already willing to give up the fight.

"You and I both know he'd be suspicious either way. Do you want to lose your girl? Do you want the entire Auror department to look at you like you're diseased for lying with a Death Eater?" I pressed. His body tensed beside me once more, but he didn't open his eyes and he didn't otherwise move.

"You're not a Death Eater anymore," he argued, but it sounded halfhearted even in my own ears.

"You're the only one here that thinks that," I pointed out.

"That'll change," he promised. "I'll make it change."

I sighed and wrapped myself in his warm embrace, noticing how perfectly his head fit in the space between my chest and chin. "You're too kind for your own good, Potter."

He didn't answer me with anything besides the low and level sound of his breathing as he drifted off to sleep, his head on my chest and his arms around my waist. I felt more at home there in his arms than I had ever felt in the manor, or even at Hogwarts, and I knew then that I was doomed, but I didn't give it much thought as I allowed myself to succumb to sleep in Harry's bed.

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I expected to wake up in his arms, but morning found me waking up alone. I heard the shower running and again cursed myself for not having heard him stir and slip out of bed. I was only lucky that Cockburn wasn't there to see me so lax in my constant vigilance. I wobbled out of bed, unsure how Harry managed to climb down a ladder every morning, and got ready for the day, though I couldn't seem to rid myself of the constant niggling in the back of my mind that something had shifted between Harry and I and was irreparably changed forever.

After that night we were virtually inseparable. We kept up the stormy façade in training, but none of our insults and jabs carried weight any longer. It was hard to make them stick when Harry would attack me with his lips the moment we got back to our room, or sometimes we couldn't even get beyond a deserted corridor before he was putting his newest talent of sucking cock into practice.

It was nice to feel wanted and even nicer to feel close to someone as intriguing and powerful as Harry. By day we were still sworn enemies, but by night we were lovers, caught up in a secret affair that neither of us could put a stop to. I knew I should. Even as I stared at him as he drifted off to sleep every night, I knew I should stop this farce before it got out of hand, but it was already too late for that and part of me knew it. I was growing attached to him, falling in love even though I had vowed not to. I was a terrible Slytherin, and an unworthy Malfoy for allowing it to happen, but I couldn't seem to switch it off. Something about Harry pulled me to him like a magnet, made me drown in him and before I realized it, we'd been at our peculiar arrangement for an entire year.

Just when I thought I could come to terms with what Harry and I were, and maybe even work up to making us into something more, I got a summons from my mother.

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It was late August and the trees were already crimson when I went to the manor. I hadn't been back there since I started training, and I wasn't looking forward to it now. I knew what was ahead of me; I knew why she had Owled to have me visit. Mother was dying and I didn't know how to handle it.

A trim blonde woman met me at the door, but it wasn't Narcissa. In fact, I only vaguely recalled seeing this woman at a handful of social events, which seemed like a distant life for me now. I nodded curtly and wondered what this woman was doing in my home, answering my door, and then it occurred to me that she might be attending to my mother. I assumed she was a Medi-witch, and I softened to her slightly.

"Draco Malfoy," I announced, holding out my hand for her to take.

"I know," she replied with a shy smile and turned away without grasping my offered hand. I followed her up the stairs to my mother's room, and nearly gasped at the sight. There, bundled up in several thick layers of blankets, was my mother, looking frailer than I'd ever seen her look before. I couldn't take my eyes away from her sunken cheeks and her graying hair. How did she go from the stunning and powerful woman I grew up with to this barely living corpse in just a few months?

The moment her haunted gaze met mine, I knew the answer. Her soul had left her body to join my father's, wherever it had gone, and left my mother a hollowed out shell. If I'd been paying closer attention, I would have seen it before I left for training. I would have known why she appeared so distant and ill. She held no more love now that Lucius had parted from her. He'd taken it all with him when the Dementors descended with their Kiss.

"Mother," I greeted as coolly as possible and went at once to her side. She hated it when I displayed any hint of true emotion, chastising it as weakness just as my father had always done. "I see your condition has deteriorated since last we spoke." It was an understatement if ever I uttered one. In truth, I was afraid she wouldn't be able to last through an entire conversation with me before she passed away.

"I'm dying, Draco," she rasped, pointing out the obvious, and I sat down on the edge of her bed to better hear her. "But before I go, I needed to take care of some loose ends." It was always about business with her, always about the Malfoy name and fortune. I nodded; I shouldn't have been expecting warm sentiment from her now. "The deeds to the manor and the information on all our vaults are in the safe in your father's study. You know the one?"

I remembered the safe well. "The one hidden inside the bust of Artimus Malfoy," I confirmed and she nodded.

"The password is Honor," she informed me and I was a little surprised at that. I would have expected something more elaborate and overdramatic from my father. "I've already granted you full access to the vaults and the Goblins are expecting your visit to finalize the paperwork and seal you as the sole beneficiary."

Every word she uttered was like a stab in my heart, but I couldn't tell her that, she wouldn't approve of my childish sentimentality. "I understand," I told her instead.

"There is one last thing," she whispered, and gestured to a scroll beside the bed. I grabbed it and opened it, scanning the document before leveling her with a dangerous gaze. It was an official intent for marriage between myself and a girl named Astoria Greengrass, whom I realized too late was the woman hovering out in the corridor.

"You can't be serious," I exclaimed. "You'll give me no say in who I marry? Even now?"

"I'm dying, Draco. I have no time to debate this. I have thoroughly checked her pedigree. Her blood is pure and she's fertile and ready to bear you a son. She's a strong woman, kind and obedient. She'll make a perfect wife, Draco," she replied, as if she'd been selecting a dog and not a bride. "I'll have no arguments on this, Son. Sign the papers now, and I'll have them Owled to our lawyers right away."

"Mother, I-"

"No arguments. You're a Malfoy, you know what that means," she replied, and looked away. "You can wait until after your silly Auror training to have the wedding, but the engagement will be sealed right this moment. I must witness it before I pass beyond the veil."

My hands were tied. I knew this day would come, but I hadn't prepared myself for what it would mean: the cancellation of all my choices, the disappearance of my freewill, and the end of my relationship with Harry. The name brought his face unbidden to my mind and I gave a strangled gasp as I stared down at the paper that would seal my fate. As much as I talked about being unaffected and detached, I felt connected to Harry, and he most certainly affected me to my very core. Despite everything I did, I had fallen in love with him, and now I was to marry another.

What would he say? Would he care? Would he congratulate me? Would he banish me from his bed? He had Ginevra after all, though they weren't engaged despite the persistence of Molly Weasley.

It only occurred to me briefly to refuse her wishes. She was my mother, she was my blood, and she was dying. How could I not sign? Besides, I needed an heir. My gaze drifted back to the woman in the doorway, and seeming to sense my attention, she turned and met my gaze. I let myself picture her wandering the halls of the manor, I tried to imagine her naked, I tried to see her pregnant with my child. All those things I could see in my mind, but I couldn't see myself at her side. She was lovely of course, my mother knew better than to pair me with someone like Bulstrode, but she wasn't Harry.

In that moment I realized it didn't matter. Harry was a fantasy, I'd told him myself that he and I would never work as a couple. He'd agreed with me, he'd confirmed my beliefs that he would be too ashamed to go public with our relationship, whatever it was, and he'd even discussed his guilt at stringing along his girlfriend, even though he refused to break things off with her. He knew this thing between us was only temporary.

The woman standing at my mother's bedroom door was permanent; she was my future.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again the world seemed to right itself. I signed my name to the bottom of the page and passed it to my mother who smiled weakly at me and patted my hand. "That's a good lad."

It was as if my signature on that damning document was the final obligation binding her to this world. The moment the words left her mouth, the last of her breath left with it, and moments later her body was slack with death.

I stared wide-eyed for a moment, her body seemed younger, happier than it had when I'd walked in moments ago, as if the last bit of her soul had found father and she was finally content. I balled up my fists and fought back a scream. She hadn't said good-bye, she hadn't told me she loved me, and she hadn't given me the time to say anything either.

Before I could grab the parchment from her already cooling hand, Astoria was behind me, her warm arms folding around me. "She loved you very much," she said, as if she knew those were the words I'd been waiting for.

"I suppose she told you this before I arrived," I muttered sarcastically, my voice a cold, distant whisper.

"No," she replied easily. "Narcissa wasn't one for overt fondness, but I could tell by the way she spoke of you."

"How long have you known?" I asked, and surprisingly she understood my meaning.

"She came to me three months ago. My father wanted to pawn you off on Daphne, but your mother wouldn't hear of it," she replied, a reluctant smile on her beautiful face.

"Rightly so," I sneered, thinking of the simpering girl I'd gone to Hogwarts with. I worried that this woman was much of the same, but she seemed calm and levelheaded so far. It didn't matter though. She could turn into a troll at night and she would still be my wife one day.

"Can I visit you while you train at the Ministry?" she asked and I imagined introducing her to Harry and cringed.

"I'm not sure that would be best," I told her, "but perhaps I can visit you on the weekends." It might pose a nice distraction for the times Harry left me to be with the Weasleys, I added silently.

"You…are you dating someone?" she asked and I didn't know if it was perceptiveness or just curiosity that spurred it, but I shook my head.

"Not in the traditional sense, no," I told her, because it was the truth. Any fantasy I'd been clutching that involved having a life with Harry was strictly out of reach now.

"Okay," she whispered, seemingly satisfied with my vague answer, and got up. "I look forward to getting to know you, Draco," she told me and before I could answer, she left the room, leaving me alone with my dearly departed mother.

"I love you, even though you've ruined my life," I told her, squeezing her limp hand in mine before I too left the room.

I summoned the coroner before going back to the Ministry training facilities. Harry had left a note to tell me he was spending the entire weekend at the Burrow. I couldn't even explain to myself how bereft I felt with that knowledge. I needed him, I needed to hold him, to touch him, to clutch his body tightly to mine and never let go, but instead I curled up in the emptiness of my own bed and I fell into a deep, tormented sleep, clutching my pillow instead.

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When Harry returned Sunday evening, he could tell at once that something was amiss. He dropped his bags and rushed to my side, only to be shoved away. "Malfoy, what's wrong?" he asked, looking thoroughly dejected by my refusal to let him touch me.

"My mother died," I told him blandly, turning back over in my bed. My eyes were red because I'd been fighting with tears all day, but I didn't want Harry's comfort, not now, not like this. He wasn't back for me, he was back for training in the morning.

"When?" Harry gasped, making another failed attempt to grab my hand.

"Yesterday," I told him sharply. "Yesterday morning."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded. "You could have sent for me at the Burrow. I would have come right back."

His words softened something deep inside of me and sharpened something else. I was always so conflicted in my emotions when it came to Harry. He caused me both pleasure and pain in every minute we spent together. "Yes, that would have been easy to explain to the missus," I snapped.

"The missus," he repeated, the words rolling oddly from his mouth. "Are you…are you jealous of Ginny?" he asked softly, and I was a fool to have heard hope in that voice.

"That would be ridiculous," I pointed out. "Especially since I'm now engaged."

"You- wait, what?" Harry shouted, standing up so quickly he stumbled backwards. "You're engaged? To who? I didn't even know you were dating someone."

"I wasn't," I replied acidly. "It was part of my mother's last wishes to choose my bride. I met her yesterday."

"I…I don't know what to say," he replied, looking completely dumbfounded. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know!" I screamed, letting my frustration out at last. I wanted him to be angry, to forbid me, to shout and yell and tell me that he didn't want anyone else to have me, but how could I ask that of him now, after all this time, after everything I've told him to the contrary?

"Is this what you want? To marry this woman, this stranger?" he asked, and I could tell he was angry and confused, and at least that was something.

"No," I told him honestly. "But I have to, don't I?"

Harry lunged at me then, toppling us both back into the mattress. He kissed me brutally, as if claiming his territory, and what I might have teased him for another day, I sank into and enjoyed that very moment. I needed to feel like I belonged to him, even though we both knew I didn't. Even though he would move into his own bed in the middle of the night, and I would be cold and alone. Even though he would still go to his Weasley girl next weekend, and I would probably visit with Astoria. Even though our lives were set on two very different paths that were veering further apart and would continue to do so forever.

"I want you," he whispered hungrily against the shell of my ear and I knew what he meant. Harry wanted to own a part of me forever, something my fiancé would never get.

"What about Ginevra?" I asked. The subject of sex, true sex, had come up on a few occasions before, and every time we had decided to wait for some reason or another. I wasn't willing to pressure him; I was perfectly satisfied with our encounters as they were, but Harry was hesitant to move forward because he was still dating the Weasel girl. Apparently, in his twisted mind, he wasn't cheating on her unless we had sex, or at least that's what he'd convinced himself of to allow him to sleep guilt free in my arms while his girlfriend slept alone somewhere else.

"I'm here with you right now, not her," he whispered, and latched on to that spot along my collarbone that he knew made me give into his every demand.

I was quickly lost in the lusty haze created by Harry's lips and tongue, but I drew myself to the surface before I let him drown me. "Why? Why now?"

He stopped, and stared up at me for a moment, his eyes blinking away his own intoxicated daze. "Your mother just died, you're about to marry someone else," he began and I cut him off by sitting up and shoving him away from me.

"Harry James Potter, if you think you can just mend my life with a pity fuck, you're vastly mistaken," I growled, but he just grinned at me cutely, making my snarl seem inappropriate and out of place in our intimate stance.

"You're adorable when you're angry, did I ever tell you that?" he asked, and stalked back toward me on his hands and knees. I rolled my eyes but let him come. I couldn't refuse him anything when it came down to it.

"I won't allow you to lose your virginity for the wrong reasons," I pressed, but he was still moving toward me.

"What are the right reasons?" he asked and I frowned at him. Love. It was the first and only thing that came to mind as the answer to that question, but I didn't voice it. I couldn't.

So, I ignored it. "Do you even know what you're doing?" I asked instead, an implied sneer in my voice.

"I think I can figure it out," he told me, his own voice reflecting a confidence that his eyes did not.

I sighed and fell back to the mattress, acting for all the world as if he was putting me out with his attentions, even though it was quite the opposite. Every graze of his fingertips, every caress of his tongue, every nip of his teeth erased the world around us, and all that was left was Harry and I, and a tangle of sweaty limbs.

I would have liked to say that the first time we made love was perfect, but at best it was awkward and painful. Still, we laughed together at our nervous floundering, and my entire heart filled to bursting with love and adoration for the man who stole my virginity. With Harry inside of me, I felt right, I felt whole, I felt like I could take on the world and no one could stop me. For those brief moments, the fact that we could never be a true couple was the furthest thing from my mind, because whether he knew it or not, Harry owned me completely.

When I came, it wasn't 'Potter' that I screamed out, it was 'Harry'. Just Harry, and he spared no thought before shouting my name as he filled me with his own release, washing away the pain of my mother's death, the distress of promising myself to another, and the heartbreak from knowing that Harry only belonged to me for the moment.

"You're perfect," he whispered as his head fell against my chest. His arms wrapped instantly around me, tightening as if I would try to squirm away. I wasn't going anywhere.

"I know," I told him and he bit me playfully on the neck before ravaging my mouth. He was as possessive of me with his lips as he'd been when he'd taken me, and I allowed my mouth to be plundered by his urgent tongue. If he wanted to forget the outside world, I would help him do that. It should have only been the two of us from the start, but fate and obligations had complicated things to the point where I don't think either of us knew how to unravel the web we'd been trapped in.

It didn't matter though. Our arrangement had always been tenuous, always poised on the edge of a steep cliff. A little push from any direction could send it toppling over into the dark abyss. I messed up in that moment, and I breathed a little too heavy, causing it to shake and then to plummet.

"Do you ever think this could be more?" he asked, mirroring my thoughts from just moments ago.

"More than great sex and easy companionship?" I asked, and he smirked, a look that seemed so out of place on his Gryffindor face.

"Yes, more than that," he clarified.

"Like what?" I prodded, wanting to know exactly what he was thinking.

"Like, exclusive," he whispered.

"Exclusively secret?" I pondered aloud and he laughed against the shell of my ear.

"No, not secret at all," he said. He hid his eyes from me, because I had told him once that they showed me everything, but I heard his voice waver and his confidence along with it.

"Why are you asking now?" I couldn't shake the feeling that none of this would have happened had I not just gotten myself engaged.

"Draco, I-" he began, but then quickly shook it off. "Forget it. I'm just being an emotional Gryffindor," he huffed, as if I were the one to have said it.

Harry, I love you.

It would have been as easy as that and he would have been mine. I know that now, but it's too late. I didn't say those three, simple words; I didn't say anything at all. I just held him, breathed in his scent and let our already tenuous relationship fall into the deep, dark chasm below us.

Author's Note: Well, my beta had to go read the sequel to this story once she finished this, and can you believe it's going to get sadder than this?! lol


	4. Part 4

Author's note: Many thanks to Deb (D7Shimmerz) for her beta work on this installment and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.

Part 4

It wasn't long after the papers published news of my impending marriage to Astoria Greengrass before Harry succumbed to the Weasleys pressure and proposed to Ginevra. I had always wondered if he would have ever popped the question had I not gotten engaged first. To preserve my sanity I reasoned that Harry would have eventually taken the ginger shrew as his wife regardless and tried to keep my face passive when I thought about it.

Neither engagement hindered our evening encounters, however, and it seemed with the clock now ticking over our heads, counting down our nights together, things only became _more_ impassioned, not less. Despite our heated kisses in the corridor and even hotter shagging after dinner, without fail, Harry held tight to the distance we'd placed between us to try and shield our hearts from the eventual parting.

Every night, Harry would leave my bed for his own, as if sleeping with me was more intimate than fucking me. Maybe to him it was. Nightmares still plagued his sleep, and I would often find myself climbing up into his bunk to soothe them away with delicate kisses pressed against his fevered forehead, always careful to return to my own bed before he woke up and caught me there. At that point, I was long beyond any denial that I was in love with him, but I was at a loss as to what to do about it.

Looking back, I can clearly see the mistakes, where I went wrong, what I said to make him flee, but at the time, I couldn't seem to stop my wretched tongue. It was a silent understanding between us, that this affair would end the moment Harry walked down the aisle, as his wedding was scheduled for the day after we graduated from the Auror program and I had yet to set a date.

"Do you love her?" he asked me one night, as his fingers splayed across my naked chest.

"No," I answered easily enough. "Do you?"

"I don't even know her," Harry quipped, smiling subtly against my shoulder.

"I meant Ginevra and you know it," I scoffed.

"Why do you call her that?" Harry asked, deftly ignoring my question.

"Because it's her name," I pointed out.

"I suppose it's better than Weaselette," Harry muttered and I merely chuckled. "I have a feeling that if you got to know her, you might like her."

"You _are_ joking, right? You can't honestly think that her and I could possibly have a civil conversation. What would we even talk about? How it feels to be fucked by the famous Harry Potter?" I goaded. I could feel his blush radiate through the naked flesh pressed against mine. He was silent for a long time and I suspected his mind had drifted elsewhere, but a moment later he turned to me, propped up on his elbow and stared down at me intently.

"I've never slept with her," he told me, his eyes shining like polished jewels.

"The virginal bride, hm?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Ginny lost her virginity before I did," Harry corrected and the unspoken words 'to you' hung between us like lead.

"So, then it's you…" I asked, my voice trailing off as he nodded.

"Who wants to wait? Yeah," Harry answered, curling up next to me once more. "I don't want to have sex with her until you and I are done."

"Don't think you could juggle it? Afraid of screaming out my name?" I teased, but his tone remained serious as he shook his head.

"I don't want to betray anyone," he said. "It's bad enough that I'm here with you and engaged to Ginny. It's too much to sleep with you both as well."

"Would you prefer to break things off with me now?" I asked, hoping my voice didn't betray how much I wanted him to refuse.

Harry merely grinned smugly up at me, throwing a perfect leg over mine and leaned down to devour my mouth. "Would you let me go so easily?" he asked when we broke apart for air.

"No," I whispered, pulling him into another kiss. That night, Harry shared my bed, mostly because I refused to let him leave, but maybe it had to do with the fact that we only had two weeks before we graduated from the program and would be forced to keep up the unfriendly façade we'd created and maintained during our dalliances. I wondered what Weasley would think – all of them – if they learned even a hint of what went on behind the closed doors of our dorm. I was sure that Ginevra would likely Hex me with everything she possessed, and Ronald's head might explode from the images it created.

* * *

Standard issue black Auror robes graced our shoulders, with the gleaming Ministry emblem on the breast. I stood next to Harry, who looked somber despite the seemingly joyous occasion. "Cheer up, Potter," I whispered so that none of the other trainees lined up around us could hear. "You'll be busting villains in no time."

Harry glanced over at me and offered a weak smile. "I just…can't believe it's over," he whispered, and I knew those words referenced so much more than Auror training. We'd each packed out trunks that morning and would be leaving straight after the ceremony. Apart. I had to shake my head to clear away the sentimental thoughts that accompanied that word. I would not fall apart, at least not where Harry could watch.

Instead I nodded, and offered a brave grin of my own. "I won't forget," I told him. "Not ever."

"I wish I could," he replied, clenching his jaw and turning away. "It would be so much easier."

I sighed and squared my shoulders, turning back to face Cockburn as he trailed down the line, shaking hand after hand of the dozen or so cadets that made it through training.

"Potter," Cockburn greeted as he clamped his grizzled hand around my lover's. "You lived up to the heroic persona the wizarding world has placed on your shoulders. Good luck in the field and be safe."

Harry nodded curtly and accepted the badge the man pinned to his robes in silence. It was a golden stripe proclaiming him to be among the Auror elite. Only three of the class would receive such an honor and the first had been Weasley.

When the man moved to stand in front of me, I took a deep breath and braced myself for the disparaging cracks on my upbringing that I'd been hearing for the last two years. Cockburn furrowed that thick brow of his and took my hand in a meaty shake. "You've defied my perceptions of you again and again Auror Malfoy. I might have to take back all the nasty things I ever said about the pureblood aristocrats being a useless waste of space."

I balked, unable to process the words for a long moment until the man's face broke into an amused grin. "Thank you, Sir," I said at last. "I think."

Cockburn chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder before reaching up to pin that same gold bar to my robes. I held my breath, unable to fathom how I had managed to procure the same honor as Harry, a wizard with clear power and skill.

When Cockburn moved on to the next trainee, I glanced over and saw Harry beaming at me. "You deserve it," he whispered. "I never would have gotten through this without you."

"Someone would have helped you with your Legilimency skills," I countered, but he shook his head sharply.

"I'm not talking about that," he replied and turned back to face the gathered crowd of friends and family who had come to watch us graduate. When I followed his gaze, I noticed it had landed on Ginevra and her eyes were flicking back and forth between me and Harry, her lips slightly pursed. I wondered if she suspected what her fiancé had been hiding for over two years, and if she did, why she still wanted to marry him.

Astoria, I knew, married me for the family name and fortune, prepared to offer me an heir in return. Did the Weasel girl marry for the same reason? I supposed she was technically a pureblood after all; perhaps those notions couldn't be bred out of pureblood women no matter how hard a family tried. Maybe she truly loved Harry, or maybe she just wanted to win him away from me. I could easily believe any of those reasons, and in the end it didn't really matter why she was marrying Harry, only that she was.

I met her gaze with a sneer, causing her to take on a defiant stance. I ignored her for the rest of the ceremony, and carefully ignored Harry as well. When we dispersed, each heading for the exit as the festivities ended, I saw Harry try to grab my attention, but I fled the building before he could corner me. I didn't think I could stand to say goodbye, especially not after we'd so easily avoided those words all day – for weeks really. We both knew it. The words didn't have to be said aloud.

* * *

As Harry's partner in Auror training, the Weasleys had invited me to the wedding between Harry and their only daughter. I nearly choked from laughing when I'd gotten it, and laughed even harder at Harry's diligent apology. I wondered how the Weasleys would feel about me coming to their daughter's wedding if they knew that Harry had given me a knee-buckling blowjob in apology for the transgression.

However, the day of the wedding, I couldn't help but wonder if I should make an appearance after all. No one would have any reason to suspect ulterior motives since I'd spent the last two and half years at the Gryffindor's side. In the end, I just couldn't bring myself to go through it. I didn't think I would be able to remain silent when the Minister asked for any reasons the couple shouldn't be wed. I had several reasons, one for nearly every night Harry and I had been roommates.

I ignored the temptation to ruin the Ginger Brat's big day, proof that I was growing as a person, and stayed cloistered up in the Manor instead. Unexpectedly, it seemed Harry had other plans for me.

When I heard the knock at the door, I didn't bother getting up. We had plenty of house-elves to take care of that sort of chore. It wasn't until I looked up from the blazing flames of my father's study – now my study, I suppose – and into the blazing green eyes of my former lover that I realized I maybe should have gone to the door myself.

That way I could have slammed it in his face, thereby shutting out the tenderness and apology I saw there.

As of twenty-four hours ago, I was supposed to hate this man and treat him with as much disdain as the public would expect. Instead, all I could do was whisper his name and stand, before striding quickly toward him. He enveloped me in a hug as if we were long lost lovers, reunited at last. My mouth closed over his without hesitation, drinking him in as I pinned him to the wall.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, not bothering to halt my roaming hands as they sought bare flesh beneath Harry's thick robes. My eyes flicked to the clock and I frowned. "You're supposed to be standing at the alter in less than an hour."

"I had to see you one last time," he breathed, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. "I had to say goodbye."

I lifted a delicate eyebrow in challenge as I sucked at his bottom lip. "I hardly think we have the time for a proper goodbye, Harry, do you?"

"I'll just have to be late," he rasped, and I nearly snarled with pleasure as I Apparated us up to my bedroom.

I made quick work of divesting his robes, and he with mine. I loved watching him crawl into my bed, the height of it made him have to stretch those sinuous legs in a way that gave me a perfect view of his arse. The moment he was propped up against the pillows, I pounced, latching my hot mouth against his neck and moaned as he writhed beneath me. I only spared a moment wondering how long it would take his new bride to locate all the places that would make him scream out.

"Draco," Harry rasped beneath me as my tongue roved over heated flesh. "I want you inside of me."

I stopped, pulling myself up so I could look at him fully. "What?" In all the many times we'd fucked or shagged or made love or whatever else you'd like to call it, never had Harry wanted to bottom. I never thought he would. I didn't mind, I loved the feeling of having Harry filling me, pounding into me with reckless abandon, but I'd always wondered what it would be like to be on the other end of all that heat.

"Please," he whispered. "I need to feel you, all of you."

I must have growled deep enough in my throat to vibrate my entire body, because I could feel it through him as well. I kissed him, putting all my fantasies and fears into the motion and then slowly worked my mouth down his body, stopping when I hit the wet spot created by his weeping cock. He hissed as my tongue slid through the puddle and then lapped at the head of his prick.

"Mmm, Draco," he sighed as he wound his fingers through my hair. The easy tugging spurred me forward until his familiar cock was hidden entirely in the wet cavern of my mouth. Nails dug into my back and fingers pulled at my hair, each growing sharper as Harry grew closer to climax. When one of my spit-slicked fingers maneuvered to his opening, caressing gently before pushing inside, I thought Harry was going to lose it.

He writhed beneath me, and I couldn't tell if it was pleasure or pain, maybe he couldn't either. Although, from the moment I added a second finger and hooked them just right, there was no longer any sign of pain on that beautifully scrunched up face. He came hot and hard in the next moment, his seed salty and perfect coating my tongue and I savored every bit of it as if it was the final dredges of an expensive bottle of wine.

My fingers remained inside of him, and I refused to give his cock time to soften. It already twitched in anticipation when I added a third finger and stretched him out, making him buck and moan against me. He was so beautiful that I cursed myself for the knowledge that I would never see him like this again. A sheen of sweat coated his tanned flesh and seemed to make him glow. With his head lolled back, his ebony locks splayed across my white pillow like individual black tendrils of desire.

"I'm ready, Draco. Now," he rasped, his voice hoarse from screaming already. I lifted one of his legs, and groaned at how unabashedly he displayed himself for me. As I lined myself against his entrance, I realized that this was going to be our last time together, that soon, he would belong to Ginevra's bed, not mine, no matter how perfectly he fit here with me.

I entered him with excruciating slowness, wincing as he did, sighing as he did, moaning as he did. It was like we were one single being, thrusting and pumping and writhing toward the same bright light hovering just out of reach. Harry was hot all around me, inside and out, and I'd never felt anything so delicious in my entire life.

Despite his previous release, Harry was still hard as a rock, so I reached down and stroked him until his eyes fluttered back into his head and he was arching into me, driving me deeper than I thought I could go. "Harry," I groaned with one last thrust into him as he emptied himself into my hand. Pops of light went off behind my eyelids and it was a long moment before I could look down into Harry's face and fully admire it.

I was exhausted, but I didn't collapse down on top of him like he usually did with me. Instead I reached down and pulled his sex-limp body up to mine, clutching him to me as if I might never let go.

He kissed me, slow and lingering, and I wanted to stay in that moment forever. "I don't want you to get married," I confessed, despite my wishes to remain detached.

"I don't want you to get married either," he replied. "We're both just selfish prats, aren't we?"

"I'm good at being selfish," I told him quite honestly.

"I'm not," Harry replied, looking sadder than I'd ever seen him, and I'd seen him in the aftermath of a war. I supposed, in a way, this was a war as well. Two sides battling for dominance, and only one could win. "She loves me," he whispered.

Mistakes stalked my life in those days, and I realize now that it wasn't even the things I _did_ say to Harry that eventually drove him away, it was the things I _didn't_. So easily the words 'So do I,' could have slipped through my lips and kept him in my bed that day, but only my tongue did as I kissed Harry for the last time.

We pulled apart, each of us stuffing on our robes as he struggled to find something to say. Harry lingered by my door, and I could tell he was anxious to leave as I went over and stood quietly beside him.

"I guess this is goodbye then?" I asked and his gaze averted from mine almost instantly.

"I think so," he whispered. When he glanced back up at me, his eyes were so bright and so sad, but I couldn't allow myself to be pulled into their depths. Harry was already late for his own wedding and mine would be just around the corner. I had a contract to fulfill, my mother's dying wishes and Harry couldn't afford the smirch on his name that pairing with me would place on it. "We'll see each other at the office at least," he reasoned, trying to smile and failing.

"No, actually," I replied. "We won't."

"What?" he asked, looking thoroughly confused.

"I'm not going to be an Auror, Harry," I replied, chuckling at his baffled expression.

"But you went through all the training," he balked.

"I wanted to prove to myself that I could be more than Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius," I told him.

"You are," he told me.

"I know that now, but I can't be in that office with you, Harry. Not if either of our marriages have any chance of working," I sighed.

His eyes were astonished and defiant for a brief moment before they broke into the gleam of acceptance and regret I felt every day. "I hate it when you're right," he sighed, his forehead leaning against mine.

"It happens a lot," I teased, though most of my humor seemed to escape me. "You should be used to it by now."

"Mmm," he sighed, his breath mingling with mine as we just stood there. "Goodbye, Draco," he whispered, pulling away with an abruptness I hadn't been expecting. When I turned around to watch him go, he was already halfway down the corridor, striding through the Manor as if he'd lived there all his life.

He didn't turn around, which was probably for the best. Had I caught one last glimpse of those piercing green eyes I might have come undone.

* * *

It was exactly three months after my own wedding to Astoria and I sat in a hotel room staring down at a pile of paperwork as thick as my cock. It was divorce papers and I was meticulously scanning through them for any possible loophole. We'd already come to the conclusion that once she gave birth to my heir she and I would separate. She understood that I had no attraction to her whatsoever, and that having sex with her was nothing more than my duty as a Malfoy. She agreed without hesitation to my terms, which were that she would reside in a separate wing of the manor, help to raise our son and grant me a private divorce. For this she would receive a monthly stipend from the Malfoy vaults to spend however she wished.

I thought it was very fair, and Astoria was a clever woman. She knew she had no claim to my heart and that it had been spoken for long before she met me. She wasn't pregnant yet, but I knew it would only be a matter of time.

Placing the paperwork into a folder, I looked up at the clock. It was quarter to eight and I tried to not worry that he would not come. Hours ago I had discretely sent a letter to Harry at his Ministry office. It said simply _'If you're bored of dull, straight, married sex yet, meet me here at eight' _and was signed with my name. Inside the envelope was a key card to this Muggle hotel.

I knew I shouldn't have expected a reply, and I wasn't disappointed. I wondered if he even got the letter at all, perhaps it had been buried under a pile of Ministry forms and lost forever. Or maybe he was just ignoring it, which was the more likely scenario.

Harry and I had run into one another only a handful of times in the six months of our parting, but every time was more painful than the last when I knew that this time, our sparring in public wouldn't end in secret shagging anymore. I wanted that back. I wanted _him_ back - even if it meant sharing him with the ginger shrew.

At five to eight, I began pacing. Would he show? Would he deny me? Either option was just as plausible as the last. He had walked away and got married first, after all. Perhaps he was in love with his wife, perhaps she satisfied him better than I could and he no longer needed his shameful release.

At ten after, I packed up my things, preparing to leave. I wasn't going to wait here all night like a sniveling Hufflepuff, while Harry showed my letter to his wife and they both had a big laugh about it. When I opened the door to leave, my eyes met a green gaze as bright as Irish grass and my breath caught in my throat. I'd almost forgotten how beautiful he was.

He was just standing there, looking like he might run away at any moment. "I shouldn't be here," he whispered.

"But you are," I replied and tossed my things on the desk by the door and pulled him inside. "And I'm glad you are," I assured him, before kissing that glorious mouth.

"It's been a long time," Harry murmured, kissing me back.

"Too long," I rasped, pulling him to the bed. I melted there in his arms, wishing he belonged to me. Making love to Harry in dark hotel rooms, falling in love with a Gryffindor who was married to another and constantly craving his touch wasn't nearly as bad as being completely denied access to this man I adored.

I was in love with Harry Potter, and in the deepest, hidden spaces of his heart; he might have been in love with me too. It might not have been the life I'd imagined for myself, or even the best thing that could have happened to me, but it certainly wasn't the worst.

Author's Note: Well, this is the final installment of this part of the story, but I plan to write at least one more 'For the Rest', which will be in Albus Potter's POV and will detail what happens to the newly joined families after 'For the Best'. Where it might go from there, I haven't the slightest. I hope you all enjoyed this prequel, and feel free to stalk me on LJ, FB or Twitter. Details are on my profile. *grins and waves*


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